Stay With Me Tonight
by thatonecoolkid
Summary: John can't keep his dreams at bay, and a squeaky bed wakes everyone at 221 B. just a fluffy oneshot.


The bed squeaked loudly at the top rooms of a flat on Baker street. It was 3 in the morning, and John Watson was in his bed alone, sleeping. He didn't sleep peacefully though, he tossed and turned and thrashed about, dreaming no doubt about the war he was now retired from. He had these dreams every night, and every night John would toss and turn just like he did now. When he woke, he would be tired as if he hadn't gotten any sleep at all; by the end of the day, after his "work" with his best friend, and almost lover Sherlock Holmes, he would be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Downstairs, Sherlock had fallen asleep sprawled out in a most likely uncomfortable manner on the couch, one long leg dangling over the side, and both pale arms thrown over his head. He was still fully clothed, but he'd probably passed out, judging by the book left open on his stomach. Even geniuses' bodies could be pushed to their limits, and this genius' had met his match. He'd only been sleeping for a couple of hours when the squeaking started upstairs. Sherlock was a very light sleeper, so he couldn't ignore the noises.

"Dammit, John. I thought you'd given up on women. Making so much noise." the man moaned, twisting himself around, trying to block the sound. It didn't work. Grumbling louder, Sherlock dragged his tall frame from the couch, mussed his already messy raven curls in frustration, and headed up to tell John to keep it down. He hesitated before the spear in a corner of the flat, considering seriously taking it up with him as reinforcement, but continued upstairs without it.

Sherlock tripped on two stairs on the way up, and cursed at them. He really wasn't one to be woken up from slumber, and that caused him to be not only clumsy, but belligerent. He finished the steps without more hassle from the pesky steps, and went down the short hallway to John's room. Sherlock hesitated in front of the door for a split second, wondering to himself whether to knock or barge right in, when he heard John say his name. He'd said it loud enough Sherlock could hear it through the thick wooden door, and he turned the knob, going in to see what was wrong.

Thankfully, he was not blinded by the sight of his friend bedding someone else, which made him a little sad even to think of. He could never trust any of his somewhat new emotions with John, because there happened to be sentiment involved, and that muddled even the greatest minds. He looked in the room, and John was turning violently in bed, sometimes whispering Sherlock's name, and sometimes saying it aloud. Sherlock strode over to the bed, just now noticing, and not particularly caring that he was half naked. He reached out a hand to try and wake John, calling his name softly.

A hand reached up in his peripheral vision, and surprised Sherlock by connecting with his left cheekbone. As he was caught by surprise, he lost his already precarious balance, and fell to the floor. John sat straight up, looking around him, still disoriented from having been woken up. He looked down on floor next to the bed, and Sherlock sat there on his rump with a near pout.

"Oh. I didn't realize it was...what. What are you doing in my room at... four in the morning?" said John, holding his hand to his lips and sucking on the knuckle that had been apparently been cut with the connect to a very sharp cheekbone. Sherlock stood, using the bed as a handle.

"You were tossing, and the dreadful squeaking woke me up." He said simply, perching at the very corner of the bed. He wasn't quite sure what to do while he was sitting here on John's bed. That was the big thing about John really. He caused Sherlock to be unsure, something he'd never really experienced before John came along. It was like his life was sort of split between _before _John and _after_ John.

They sat on the opposite ends of the bed, staring at each other awkwardly for a while. Then both men inched towards each other a little at the same time, without being conscious of it.

"What was it you were dreaming about, John?" asked Sherlock, leaning in towards the sandy haired man. Their eyes met, Sherlock's tawny ones drawing John's blue grey, and John leaned in as if they were literally drawing his closer. They both realized how close they were, only a couple of inches now, and John started to talk while Sherlock coughed and drew away.

"I um, just the uh, the war ones. You know. They're really loud, and just kind of, traumatic, I- guess." stammered John, blushing. The two men were now facing the wall, and Sherlock nodded. Then he realized John would never have really seen his nod, and began to say yes. He found himself distracted when John's left hand landed on Sherlock's left thigh, his face again just inches away. He waited right there, and the dilation of John's pupils and the blush in his cheeks told Sherlock it would probably be okay to close the distance and erase all of the sexual tension in the room.

So he did.

Sherlock felt a spark of pleasure in his stomach as his lips finally touched Johns, hesitantly. They both still had their eyes open, and Sherlock broke barely away, the distance between their lips only lasting for a second when he went back in for another closed mouth kiss. Sherlock had no idea what he was doing, so he ran purely on instinct, running his tongue experimentally on the blonde man's slightly fuller bottom lip. John took that as a sign to deepen the kiss slightly, nipping on the tip of Sherlock's tongue. Slowly, they deepened the kiss until Sherlock had his arms wrapped around John's shoulders, pulling him tight, and John's hands were twisting pleasantly in Sherlock's hair. They broke away for breath, and Sherlock gasped. He'd never done that before, so not only was that he and John's first kiss, but it was Sherlock's first kiss _ever_. He had never really understood kissing, and, until now had never found anyone he'd even wanted to kiss.

"Sherlock..." John began, his eyes dazed, a bit of saliva on the arch of his top lip. He licked it off nervously, and that alone sent chills through Sherlock.

"Yes?" he asked, cocking a dark eyebrow.

"I'm just, I'm really tired, and I want to sleep. But will you...will you um..will you please just stay with me? I think it might help if you were... er..I guess there if the dreams were to start again you could..." John finished lamely, looking down at his bare feet. Sherlock reached over and pulled John's chin up, looking him in the eye. He leaned in, and barely a centimeter away from his lips, whispered "Of course I will." He closed the distance with a sweet closed mouth kiss that made John blush still deeper.

Sherlock pulled John onto the bed and lay down on his back, an arm splayed across the pillow. John sat up to grab the blanket which had made its way to the floor at one point, and laid his head on Sherlock's chest, falling asleep almost instantly. Sherlock drifted off after a little while.

John didn't dream again that night.


End file.
